The Walking Dead Wake Up
by LucyVanPolevault
Summary: Carol, Daryl & Rick get shot and travel to another dimension inhabited by everyone who's died in the apocalypse. The trio quickly find out that The Walking Dead, a popular series that airs the trials and tribulations of their group, is quite popular and fuels quite a bit of speculation about personal matters they'd rather not discuss with strangers. Then they discover fan fiction…
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One - Daryl and the Zombie Stripper**

 **A/N: Full disclosure, nothing is sacred in this, my first attempt at a crack fic. I plan to poke fun at pretty much every aspect of the Walking Dead fanfic universe, including the ship wars, slash, awkwardly-written sex scenes, tropes that have been done to death, RPF, etc. Rated M for Dixon mouth and really, really bad smut.**

 **While I'd like to take full credit for this baby, Aaya123Woods contributed the egg (or sperm?) the moment I tripped and fell into her Harry Potter story, 'The Golden Trio Discovers FanFiction.' It was a magical moment and she doesn't even know about our love child... Anyway, as soon as I applied that concept to our favorite apocalyptic gang, I pictured Daryl Dixon having an uber freakout when he discovers that strangers like to write and read about him having sex, then Merle popped up and the ideas started flowing and I just knew this had to be written.**

 **As for time frame, it takes place after the Season Six mid-season finale. Imagine the Alexandrians somehow resolve the walker invasion and repair the wall; Daryl, Sasha and Abraham use their newly acquired rocket launcher to take out Negan's entire gang; and our favorite characters are reunited for a brief period of calm before all hell breaks loose.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but my potty mouth and bizarre sense of humor. All credit for our favorite characters goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.**

Daryl's first lucid thought upon waking was centered around that sound. Namely, who the fuck was playing that awful music? His second, why was there music? His third, he needed to wake up because that techno shit was a sure fire sign his brain was about to launch into one of those nightmares about Merle and zombie strippers.

He forced his eyes open and groaned when he was greeted with Merle's signature grin, a hard thump to the chest, and that booming, raspy voice announcing, "The fucker finally woke up!"

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them again, Merle was still there, huge smile splitting his face and his one arm wrapped around the shoulders of a stripper with huge tits in a slutty nurse costume.

Daryl lifted his head and glanced around the room. Wait… no stripper pole, no tables… God damn, the light in there was way too bright for this to be a strip club. And the only people in the room were his jackass brother and the slutty nurse, both of them now sporting matching grins.

The nurse started to make sense now – the flickering lights overhead, what looked to be the steel bars of a hospital bed, an IV pole to his left, even that antiseptic smell…

But Merle? What the hell was Merle doing here? Merle was dead! Face nothing but a mess of pulp, dead so long, he was worm food by now! And why the fucking techno music? God, would someone just turn that crap off? Daryl struggled to sit up, frantic to find and beat the shit out of the source of that vibrating, repetitive 'ping, ping, funk' that masqueraded as a bassline. Fucking hell, that sound was coating his ears like slime, dripping into his brain and the pressure was about to make him lose his ever loving mi-

Merle could always tell when his brother was fixing to lose his mind, so he leaned over and muttered into his ear, "I know you hate this techno shit, little brother, but Bonnie here says she can't dance to nothing else. Just relax and enjoy your resurrection…"

What? Resurrection? Well, he sure as hell wasn't Jesus, so he was a walker? But the two living, breathing people in the room, one of whom had started to shake her ass in an awkward, jerky fashion, the other still grinning to beat the band, weren't making him hungry... No compulsion other than to find the boom box he'd spotted in the corner and punch it a couple hundred times…

So if he wasn't a walker, maybe this was some kind of afterlife? But he didn't believe any of that silly bullshit about life after death. Your two feet were flat on the ground or your toes were up. Your blood was pumping or it wasn't. You were living or you weren't nothing. Okay, there was that fucked up halfway point between the two…

Daryl flinched when he caught Bonnie, now improvising a pole dance with the IV stand, leering at him with a focused enthusiasm he wasn't used to seeing in a stripper. And he knew strippers – back before the world shit the bed, Merle was always dragging him to some tittie bar, convinced the sight of a pair of boobs and a shaved cooch would wake his dick up and make him start praying at the altar of the pussy.

Well, wherever he was, it sure wasn't heaven. No way they'd give this girl the job of door greeter… And Merle as St. Peter? Fuck that noise…

Bonnie had noticed his flagging attention and was attempting to get it back by trying, without much success, to pull her leg behind her head. Daryl ignored her acrobatics and grunts as flashes of memory began to flood his brain.

He, Rick, and Carol going on a run for Mr. Kraus' pastamaker... The old man's constant whining after Mrs. Neidermeyer's death and the discovery that they'd been knocking boots… The splinter faction he'd formed demanding a pasta dinner to honor that whiny bitch's death, as well as half the town's population… Threatening to tell Carl about his father and Carol's plan to go all Scarface and take the splinter group out… He grimaced as vague memories of Williams Sonoma swept over him… Hitting up five – FUCKING FIVE – of those goddamned stores before finding the yuppie gadget… Returning the next evening to fireworks going off over the town, the walls surrounded by walkers… Covering themselves with geek guts and making their way back via the sewer tunnel Maggie and Aaron had told them about… Emerging to find themselves in the middle of some kind of barbecue? And then… Bullets. Lots of them. Everywhere. The last memory he'd had was of a… red, white and blue gazebo?

Daryl checked his stomach, his arms, his head. No pain, no blood… Merle's face – nose, mouth, and eyes all in the right place – was inches from his ear, whispering, "Calm your shit down..."

Yeah. He was dead. Definitely dead.

Bonnie decided that this was a good time to bend over and rub her ass all over his crotch. So this was what hell looked like… Or maybe he was tripping on mushrooms again? The girl turned around and her glitter-smeared tits were right there, and while her teeth were a bit gnarly, she didn't look a thing like that Chupacabra… Now she was shoving them in his face, and the patchouli stank coming off her was more than he could deal with. Goddammit, whatever this was, _wherever_ this was, it was all kinds of fucked up and he was done with it.

Daryl pushed the girl away from him and scrambled to his feet, shouting, "Off! Get the fuck off me!" He rounded on his brother and yelled, "Enough, Merle! Stop siccing strippers on me!"

Moments later, chaos filled the room. Bonnie sobbing in the corner, Merle yelling something at him about being a pussy, and still with that goddamned techno music! Daryl wanted nothing more than to leave, but Merle blocked the door. He quickly scanned the room for another exit and spotted his crossbow leaning against the wall behind him. Muscle memory kicked in. He grabbed the weapon, loaded it, and fired a bolt into the boom box.

Relief flooded Daryl. Now he had to take care of that crying girl…

His brother quickly stepped in front of Bonnie and used his one arm to gently push Daryl's crossbow down. "Settle down, brother," a placating tone to his raspy voice that did nothing to calm him. His brother kept going, though. "I know you been through the ringer, but we don't kill the living. Remember?" He snickered, before adding, "Oh, wait, that ain't true since Rick went batshit…"

Daryl glared at him. _He_ was about to go batshit if Merle didn't get that girl out of here and explain what the hell was going on.

Merle continued in what he probably thought was a soothing voice. "We got a solution here. Just hold your fire while I get Bonnie out of here, then I'll tell you everything you need to know."

Merle turned around and crouched down so Bonnie could see his face. She was huffing through the final stages of her crying jag, mascara and snot streaking her makeup. Her red, mottled face contorted as she tried to stop her flow of tears, a sad smile peeking out as his brother groped her waist in a bullshit attempt to comfort the woman. That same soothing voice, though, as he spoke to her. "I tried, girl. Thought the apocalypse might have softened the boy up, but seems he still doesn't know what to do with a good piece of tail. I do, and I'll make you feel all better if you meet me at Dale's later."

And with that, the girl was gone, but not before Daryl caught a glimpse of the despondent scowl she threw him as Merle shuffled her out of the room.

Now it was the two of them. And a bunch of questions he didn't even know how to begin to ask.

Merle guided him backwards until he had no choice but to sit on the bed, then crouched down and started to use that bullshit soothing voice of his again. "First off, you need to settle down."

Oh, hell no. He'd had just about enough of his hot-headed brother playing the role of the sane, rational one. That was his job. "Cut the drug counselor act, Merle. Just tell me if I'm tripping or not."

His brother's raised eyebrows and twisted smirk didn't bode well for a straight answer, so he tried again. "I'm fucking serious, Merle. Tell me what the hell is going on and give it to me straight. No bullshit."

The asshole just kept looking at him with that grin that said he knew something Daryl didn't, but had the good sense to start talking before Daryl lost his shit again.

"You're a reality TV star, little brother."

 **Yet another A/N: Those of you who are reading my Cupid piece already know that I'm not very reliable… Sorry. I truly feel bad about leaving it hanging for so long. I assure you (like you have any reason to believe me) that I'm not done with Daryl and Lilly, but I've been consumed with some other imaginary figures in my head. Hence, my plan to use this little fic as a quick and dirty writing exercise to keep me primed and lubricated (ha!) for that work. This means shorter chapters, more frequent updates, and probably a shit ton of mistakes because I plan to keep this light and fun. Hopefully, I'll be able to stay on track, but it relies (only a little bit) on whether or not you find reading this fic as amusing as I do conceiving and writing the thing.**

 **Lastly, I didn't write this story to intentionally piss anyone off, but this is the internet and someone is bound to get butt hurt and let me know in a childish review. So, here's a heads up to potential flamers. Bite me. Obviously, I don't take any of this stuff seriously (duh!), so it's safe to say that I won't take your opinions seriously, either. In fact, if your review gives off even a whiff of pettiness or includes text speak (which is pretty standard among flames), I'll likely leave it up for my and others' amusement. Constructive criticism based on my writing is welcome, however, as are ideas for future chapters. Is there an aspect of the fanfic universe or the show that drives you up the fucking wall? A scene or conversation that plays out in your head and makes you laugh out loud? I won't guarantee anything, but PM me and we'll talk.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Merle and the Wind Up

**Chapter Two – Merle and the Wind Up**

 **A/N: Full disclosure, nothing is sacred in this crack fic. I plan to poke fun at pretty much every aspect of the Walking Dead fanfic universe, including the ship wars, slash, awkwardly-written sex scenes, tropes that have been done to death, RPF, etc. Rated M for Dixon mouth and really, really bad smut.**

 **A big huge internet smooch (with tongue and bad oral hygiene)to jamie snow smith for being my first reviewer. Your account doesn't allow pms, so I'm letting you know here that I heard you and I've often wondered the same thing. Seriously, we're writers here - it ain't hard to work in a body of water, a scavenged bar of soap and some toothpaste to help our readers suppress their gag reflex when reading about our favorite characters' exchange of bodily fluids.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but my potty mouth and bizarre sense of humor. All credit for the show and its characters goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.**

Daryl stared at Merle for a few seconds, looking for all the world like a frozen computer screen that needed a hard reboot, before shaking his head and muttering, "No. This ain't happening." He pulled his eyes away from Merle's and looked at his lap, still shaking his head. "I'm hallucinating again. Must have hit my head or I'm lying in a coma somewhere… This ain't happening, ain't no way."

Merle grinned. This was the first time he'd been present at a resurrection, other than his own of course, and watching it sink in was kind of fun. "You ain't hallucinating and you ain't tripping."

Daryl quickly peeked at Merle and looked down at his lap again. The stupid fucker still wasn't getting it, and none of the other knowledge he needed to drop on him was gonna penetrate until his brother accepted the fact that all of this was really happening.

Merle raised his voice a bit and tried again. "You ain't in heaven, you ain't in hell, and you ain't in Georgia no more."

Daryl still wouldn't look at him, just kept muttering to himself. Merle increased his volume again, but changed his tone to that slow, menacing one that told his brother he better pay attention. "What do I gotta do to make you understand, boy?"

Still no reaction. Merle needed to get serious. He'd raised the boy to distrust everything but cold, hard facts and he supposed that's what he was gonna have to give him.

He grabbed Daryl's chin, forcing him to raise his eyes and look at his big brother. "I know this shit's hard to wrap your brain around, but here's the facts. You may have got shot and died, but you're alive right now and you ain't one of those walking corpses. And this sure ain't some solipsistic dream, trip or hallucination neither."

"Solop-? What the fuck?" Daryl's scowl made it clear that he'd finally gotten the boy's attention, but the confusion in his eyes made it clear that using big words had gone and confused him even more.

Merle took a step back and sighed. "Some bullshit philosophical term, basically means you think you're the only one who's real, that your mind made everything else up."

Daryl still looked pissed off. Seems his brother didn't like him using nerdy words. Tough shit. Still, Merle couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck with him a little more. "What? I been reading a lot. You get Milton away from the Governor, he's got a lot to say and some of it ain't boring. He gave me this book on Cartesian theory that'll blow your fucking mind. Lately, I've been reading up on existentialism, though. Puts all the shit we been through into perspective."

Now Daryl looked like his computer had done crashed. It was actually kind of funny, but stopped when his dipshit brother leaned forward to rub his face in his hands like it would help him wake up and started muttering again, "No. Nope. You ain't real…" Now the boy looked like he was trying to burrow a tunnel through his hands that would take him back to Alexandria.

Merle's patience was gone. He reached over, grabbed Daryl's nipple, gave it a hard twist, then smacked the side of his head. "This right here is real and I'm real. As real as it fucking gets. And you. Were. On. A. Reality. TV. Show."

That seemed to do the trick. The way Daryl was chewing his lip and flaring his nostrils, it was clear he'd finally accepted what Merle had told him, and was using it to reframe everything he thought he knew, instead of plugging it into a reality that no longer mattered.

Fucking finally. Merle took a seat, leaned back and got comfortable. Daryl had a process and they still hadn't gotten to the good and pissed phase. Once that was over, he'd be there to answer his questions.

But the expression on the boy's face? Eyes narrowed and teeth fixing to chew a hole through his lip? Priceless. Seriously. The Producers had approached him, offering a huge wad of cash to allow them to film Daryl's resurrection, and every time Merle had increased the price, the fuckers had met it without even blinking. He'd gotten them up to an even $2 million and the promise of a new arm, but who knows how much they would have paid out if Hershel and Dale hadn't gotten hold of him, yanking at his conscience? Didn't help when Lori piled on with her opinions about his "tasteless, immoral exploitation of such a vulnerable moment." For fuck's sake, didn't they know that's what sold?

Seems his decision to keep cameras out of the room had been a good one, though. Footage of Daryl pointing his crossbow at an hysterical fan wouldn't have gone down too well with the rest of the fangirls. And now that the truth had sunk in, he was sure his shy little fucker of a brother wouldn't want anyone watching the epic freakout that was brewing. Because anyone who knew Daryl could measure the approach of one of his hissy fits by his breathing, each inhale deeper and longer, the exhales louder and more forced, until he sounded like a bull about to tear apart a sea of red capes.

Hold the fucking phone! That's the kind of shit that drenched fangirl panties! Who says he couldn't take out the middle man and sell that footage directly to one of the TV stations? That new channel running back-to-back Daryl specials would pay top dollar, he was sure of it. And once Daryl saw how much money they'd get for it, once Merle explained that this is what his fans wanted to see, once he understood that losing his shit was part of his motherfucking brand… His brother would be okay with it. He would. He had to.

But first, he had to get it on film and do it on the sneak, or the moody little fuck would get all self-conscious and hold back. Merle glanced over to make sure Daryl was still distracted, before pulling out his phone and casually strolling over to a row of shelves on the far wall. Turning his back briefly, he started the video and leaned the device against a box of sterile cotton swabs. All he could do at this point was cross his fingers and hope the angle was right. And get rid of that crossbow, of course, because if Daryl shot and killed him, whoever found his phone would be the one making money off his hard work.

After tucking Daryl's weapon out of sight, Merle got to work. He wasn't sure how much space was left on his phone and he needed to get this show on the road.

Speaking loudly enough so that Daryl could hear him, but softly enough so that his brother would think he was sympathetic, Merle began. "Pretty fucked up, I know. People watching your life without you knowing… It's a damn shame. No respect for privacy anymore…"

Daryl looked up and the glare he shot Merle was pure acid. Bingo. "Who. Who's been doing this?" The gravel in Daryl's voice sounded like an avalanche picking up speed. Oh, this was gonna be good.

Merle shook his head slowly. "Dunno, little brother. They call themselves The Producers. They run things around here, but keep out of sight except for some TV announcements and a town meeting every few months."

Daryl stood up and made for the door again, a steely, determined look on his face. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. Merle quickly stepped in front of the exit and gave his brother's shoulders a squeeze, halting his progress. "I know you're upset. I get it. But there's more you need to know and I'm not telling you until you sit your ass back down."

He steered Daryl back to the bed, glancing over at the camera to make sure his brother was still in the shot. "Like I told you, I understand. You have every right to be pissed. It's okay to get mad, maybe even throw some shit around and yell a bit. I sure did when I found out."

Daryl shouted, "Found out what? You still haven't told me shit!" Oh, yeah. This was a good fucking start… His brother was doing that breathing thing again and now his ears were turning red. It wouldn't take much more to make him blow his stack, but Merle had to get it on film before his phone crapped out.

"You want to know? You really think you're ready for the truth, little brother?" Merle took a step back to clear the shot and caught his brother's eye to make sure he was paying attention. Yup. It was go time. The next words out of his mouth needed to be precise, aimed to hit every single one of the twitchy little fucker's insecurities.

"Every second of your life, ever since we hooked up with Deputy Roid Rage and all those assholes at the quarry, has been filmed." He pointed his finger at Daryl and used it to emphasize his words. "Every shit, every piss, every fart. Every time you scratched your balls and picked your nose, everybody here watched it on a live feed, eight channels of it, running 24/7."

Technically, every word of what Merle had said was true. Every moment of his brother's life had been filmed and watched. Daryl didn't need to know they blurred out the pink parts - that would only mess with the vivid image he was trying to paint of strangers watching him take a dump and pull out his dick.

Merle waited, but instead of blowing his stack, Daryl spat out, "Who? Who's watching?"

Oh, seems his brother didn't understand how many people had violated his privacy. "About ten million or so, basically every single person in North America who's died since it all went to hell. I mean died died, not walking around dead. That includes a bunch of people you know, like everyone from the quarry and the prison. Santa Claus and his vanilla cupcake, too. But everybody tunes in, watches every move you make."

Daryl leveled him with a glare that could slice through steel and asked in a low, menacing voice, "What about the Governor? He here?"

Shit. Merle should have been expecting that question. Hell, it was one of first ones he'd asked when he woke up. Maybe he could use that… "Oh yeah, he's here. He's in Guantanamo. That's what we call the place they keep all the assholes - there's him, those Terminus freaks. Those Wolves Carol killed and Negan's group's are there, too. Can't get at them, though. Got round-the-clock security over there, and the smart ones don't leave." He paused and shook his head sadly. "Yup, all the bad guys you took out are still walking around, getting three squares a day, not having to worry about geeks chewing their throat out… Oh, except for Joe." He smirked, knowing his new buddy had watched Rick's death the night before. "I have no doubt he's paying attention now that Rick's here."

"Carol here too?" Daryl had calmed down some and now had a focused air about him. This was not good…

Merle answered his brother's question while trying to figure out he could use his brother's death to wind him up again. "Yeah, along with a couple preppies that got caught in the crossfire."

Daryl nodded slowly and started chewing his lip again. Merle realized his brother had no idea who'd killed him. "You do know what took you out, don't you?"

Daryl shrugged, making it clear that he was finally at peace with the fact that he'd been killed. "Just remember a bunch of bullets. We all knew some assholes would come calling, just thought we'd have more time to get ready…"

Merle cocked an eyebrow and shook his head slowly. "Oh, hell no. It was those preppies." Daryl looked at Merle to see if he was fucking with him. Merle nodded and continued. "Yup. I watched the whole thing play out on TV. Seems that fucking halfwit Spencer decided to hold a firearms training session, then someone else had the bright idea to shoot off fireworks to cover the sound, and then, because it's Mayberry, they decided to go big and have a Fourth of July picnic, parade and all."

That should do it. Daryl needed a target and those dumbasses deserved every bit of his wrath. Merle didn't, though, so he scratched his chin an attempt to hide the grin he was having a hell of time keeping down.

"You're not telling me shit. Again. Who fired the shots?" The cold, determined look on his brother's face made it clear that he was looking to narrow his focus, and that anyone who remained a target was gonna be one sorry motherfucker. Merle was sorry to disappoint him.

"Wish I could tell you, brother, but they blacked out the screen. I'm figuring the Powers That Be knew all hell was gonna break loose when you kicked it. They had to put Deanna and rest of the preppies here in protective custody. Smart move on their part, because with you three gone, the rest of those fuckers will be here soon and, holy shit, if your fan club knows who exactly shot you, no way they'll be able to keep them safe."

Daryl was starting to get that puzzled look on his face again, so Merle explained. "I wasn't fucking with you when I told you about being a TV star. You got a hardcore fanbase and they are _pissed_! Been stalking my house, raising a stink about how it wasn't your time to go yet. Soon as I came over and settled in, I started noticing a bunch of bitches walking around with, 'If Daryl Dies, We Riot,' T-shirts. I shit you not, little brother. And fuck if they didn't follow through, because those ladies went apeshit. You should have seen it - they were throwing TVs, blocking traffic, a few tried to burn down the TV station and hell if they didn't almost succeed."

The boy's expression made it clear that he was still too confused to get pissed. Since Merle was planning to work the crazy-ass fan angle next, he needed to explain the magnitude and diversity of what was waiting for him as soon as he stepped foot outside the clinic. Daryl understood violent outbursts of anger, but the idea of more Bonnies should send his twitchy, socially retarded brother into an epileptic fit. Hopefully, a loud one.

He squeezed Daryl's shoulder, hoping it would come off as reassuring. "Now, I don't want you thinking all your fangirls are violent. Sure, some are fucking scary as shit, but a lot of them are real sweet and pretty, like Bonnie. They're just glad to see you make it over here, can't wait to meet you and… Um…" He caught his brother's eye to make sure he was paying attention. "Let's just say, there's a bunch of ladies looking to jump your joystick, and if you don't get laid at least twice by the end of the day, I'm out a hundred bucks."

Merle was glad that he'd actually been the one to bet against Daryl getting his pipe drained. His brother's reaction to Bonnie confirmed Merle's pretty reliable gut that told him the boy's cherry was still hanging from the tree, and he respected himself too much to take the losing side on a stupid bet. But that hundred dollars he'd be getting from Joe? Hell, that was a drop in the bucket compared to the money he stood to make off the footage of Daryl's imminent freakout. Nothing pissed that boy off more than people talking about his sex life, except maybe aggressive women who tried to get down his pants.

"I tell you, boy… The things they want to get up to with you are gonna make your hair curl. They write all about it on these web sites - you're gonna get a kick out of it when you read up on it. Half of it's just fucking weird, but there's some really hot stuff that might give you some ideas… And now that you're here, well, there's a lot of ladies looking to make their fantasy a reality."

Daryl's jaw dropped, but his breathing was too even. Merle decided to play up the public exposure bit. "And that's not all. There's the live feed channels, but there's a bunch more that run specials and talk shows on the fan favorites. And you, little brother? You are _the_ fan favorite. Seriously. Not fucking with you. Rick and Carol run a close second, and even though I've been off the air for a while, I got quite the little fan club of my own." He chuckled. All that fan love he got was better than meth, better than oxy, better than the most primo pot he'd ever smoked. Good thing, too, because he still hadn't found a way to score around here.

The boy's ears were turning red and his breathing was starting to speed up. Merle was definitely on the right track. "But you, man? They run highlight reels of you flexing your muscles, your snarky little comments. All those tender moments between you and Carol, you and miss Vanilla cupcake…" Merle fought the urge to roll his eyes at the idea of his brother being responsible for all these wet panties. What a fucking waste…

Merle glanced over at his phone and saw that the light was still on. Just a little more should do it. "There's even this Jerry Springer-type show where they got people up there arguing about whether or not you're gonna fuck Carol, if Beth is your dream girl." Merle couldn't hold back the dripping sarcasm with those last two words. He'd thought that story about sparkly vampires and a werewolf mooning over a fucking baby was the dumbest thing on that site, but then came all those stories about two virgins making sweet love in a goddamned casket.

Daryl still hadn't said a fucking word, but his fists were clenched and he looked like he was gonna jump out of his skin. Merle knew this next bit would blow his wad, but the little fucker was teetering on the edge of a cliff and this was his last chance to tip him over the edge.

"But this show last week? They asked me to come on, thought I'd have some insight, what with you being my brother and all, but I refused." He shook his head. "Just couldn't do it, the stuff they wanted me to talk about was too private."

Merle knew it was wrong to draw his brother's torture out, but he couldn't help it. Didn't want to, it was too much fun to pass up. "You know what? Forget I said anything. You don't need to know, it'll just make you mad. Like go postal kind of mad…"

Daryl finally spoke up, hissing, "Stop fucking with me. Just say it."

Merle raised his brow. Fine. Knowing that his big brother was fucking with him wouldn't make a bit of difference when Daryl ultimately lost his shit. "Are you sure? I don't know, man… Okay, you're gonna need to vent, but you gotta promise to stay in here while you do it."

He grinned and didn't even bother trying to hide it. "Okay, if you really wanna know, I'll tell you… You sure?"

Daryl looked like he wanted to tear Merle's other arm off and beat him to death with it, a sure sign it was time for the big reveal. "Okay. Here it is." He paused a moment, knowing he was risking bodily harm, but he just couldn't help it.

"They spent thirty minutes, audience participation and everything, talking about why you never jack off."

 **Another A/N just because I like to do them. Also because I think the Internet and the fandom deserve a pat on the back for not sending me any nasty reviews. Maybe I underestimated them… I also want to pat myself on the back for only taking one week to update this fic. Is that tacky? Whatever. GO ME!**

 **Anyway, please review and let me know what you think. I've never done this world building thing in my writing, so I sincerely hope that I haven't royally confused y'all with this alternate dimension stuff. If I have, please, please, PLEASE let me know, but keep in mind more details will be revealed in upcoming chapters. And don't be shy - let me know if you'd like me to poke fun at some aspect of the show or the fandom in particular. I won't guarantee anything, but I'm more than happy to hear you out.**


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